


Corpse Flower

by Spikedluv



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4707359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles thinks that having sex with Derek will make him less distracting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corpse Flower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/gifts).



> I started writing this story for kat_lair’s [Porn Meme 2.0](http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/403220.html) on LJ. Except. Well, porn never happened! I’d call it a cuddle!fic, but we didn’t even get as far as cuddling. Maybe it would better be described as a hand-holding!fic.
> 
> I can’t remember where I first heard about the Corpse Flower, but when I Googled ‘what plant blooms very rarely’ I clicked on this link: [Top 10 most beautiful and rarest flowers in the world](http://themysteriousworld.com/top-10-most-beautiful-and-rarest-flowers-in-the-world/), in case you want to know where I got the other flowers from.
> 
> Story takes place near the end of senior year.
> 
> Written: September 1, 2015

“We need to have sex!” Stiles declared, a little bit flushed and breathless from running up the stairs to Derek’s loft.

Derek, who had known Stiles was coming from the moment he heard the distinctive rattle of the Jeep’s engine, didn’t raise his eyes from the book he was studiously _not_ reading, though his fingers did tighten dangerously on the tattered cover of the secondhand paperback at that unexpected pronouncement. He heaved a deep sigh that would hopefully cover any reaction he hadn’t been quick enough to quash, and closed the book after carefully marking his spot.

“Sex pollen?” Derek asked, since it was something that Stiles had actually asked about one time, along with knotting, which had been less of a surprise because Derek knew just how much misinformation there was on the internet.

“What?”

“Aliens?” Stiles had been browsing a werewolf fiction site that day, which Derek knew full well he’d bookmarked.

“No. I don’t think . . .”

“Mating heat?”

“What? Wait, is that a thing?”

“Unicorn hanging around, threatening you?”

“No, asshole!” Stiles snapped, finally catching on to the fact that Derek was screwing with him, though not in the manner he’d proposed.

Derek bit the inside of his lip to keep his amusement hidden from Stiles, as well as his relief that he’d gotten Stiles off-track before he noticed Derek’s initial reaction to his comment.

“Then why do you think we need to have sex?” Derek asked, putting as much disinterest as he could muster up into the question.

“Because you’re distracting!” Stiles said, as if that made any sense at all.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Seems like a flimsy reason to me. Are you going to have sex with everyone you find distracting?” Derek asked, a growl forming in his throat at the thought.

“No one could possibly be as distracting as you,” Stiles muttered, running a hand through his hair so that it stuck up on top.

“Still not a good reason to have sex,” Derek said, aiming for a calm he really didn’t feel.

Stiles threw his hands up in the air dramatically. “I have an exam, Derek! For which I am supposed to be studying right now!”

“So rub one out and get back to studying,” Derek said, wishing that Stiles would leave right that second so _he_ could go rub one out, or maybe go for a long, long run because he shouldn’t be thinking of Stiles when he rubbed one out.

“I’ve tried that,” Stiles said dejectedly. “Like, a million times. It doesn’t work.”

Derek scrubbed a hand over his face to hide his expression. “It’s a bad idea, Stiles. For both of us. If you’re just looking to scratch an itch, well, I don’t want to be your scratching post.”

Stiles’ eyes went wide and he pressed his lips together hard.

Derek sighed, resigned. “What?”

“I’m not sure whether to comment on your weird metaphor and the fact that you just compared yourself to a cat, or skip over that and go right to the fact that you said ‘if’.”

“What?” Derek said again, mind racing as he tried to remember exactly what he’d just said.

“If,” Stiles repeated. “You said, _if_ I’m just looking to scratch an itch.”

Derek tried not to look like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights, though he was pretty sure he failed pretty spectacularly. “What’s your point?”

Stiles smiled. “You get grumpy when someone gets a little too close to the soft, marshmallow center that lies beneath your prickly, cactus-like exterior.”

Derek growled.

Stiles’ smile widened. “It’s kinda cute, actually.”

“Don’t you have an exam to study for?” Derek said, without an ounce of petulance, thank you very much.

Stiles let his smile fade, but it didn’t leave his face entirely. “What if it was more?”

“What if _what_ was more?” Derek said. Kinda grumpily, he did have to admit, but only to himself.

“What if I wanted more than to scratch an itch?”

Derek swallowed hard and hoped his emotions weren’t apparent on his face. “You don’t,” he said firmly.

“I think about more than your strong arms, and six-pack abs, and amazing ass, you know.”

Derek opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I think about your smile.”

Derek scowled. “I don’t smile.”

Stiles smiled. “Yes, you do. Granted, it’s rare. Like the Corpse Flower, which only blooms every 30 to 40 years.” Stiles hmm’d. “Of course, it supposedly smells like rotten meat, which isn’t really the imagery I’m going for here. Maybe I should’ve said the Middlemist Red, which is the rarest flower in the world; there’s only two left.”

“Stiles.”

“Or the Youtan Poluo, which is said to bloom every 3,000 years. That one’s linked to Buddhism, which would fit more with the whole zen thing you’ve got going on lately.”

Derek spoke Stiles’ name again in an attempt to interrupt, but Stiles either didn’t hear him or was on a roll.

“I looked up rare flowers once,” Stiles explained.

“Why?”

Stiles looked shifty. “No reason. Certainly not to compare thee to a summer’s day, or any of that sort of nonsense. No siree.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up and a tease of Stiles’ arousal wafted in Derek’s direction. Stiles started talking quickly again, as if he could take Derek’s mind off it with a flood of words.

“I also think about cuddling, which, to be completely honest, does sometimes, but not always, end in sex. I also think about watching movies together, and just being in the same room while you’re reading and I’m . . . possibly also reading, but more likely playing a video game. Training together, though again, that often does lead to sex.”

Stiles raised his eyes and looked into Derek’s. “So. Do you think about doing other things . . . besides scratching an itch . . . with me?”

“You’re still in high school,” Derek said gruffly.

“Which isn’t exactly an answer,” Stiles said. He took a step closer to Derek’s chair, which suddenly felt less like a comfort and more like a snare. “Except for how it kind of is.”

Derek couldn’t back up, but only because he’d have had to climb over the back of the chair to do so, and he would’ve lost all dignity and credibility in that one move.

“You think about me,” Stiles said slowly, as if he was feeling his way. “You think about _us_. Do we go to the Farmer’s Market together? Do we hold hands at the diner where you buy me milkshakes?”

Stiles sat on the arm of the chair, but he didn’t lean in and confine Derek. Not that he didn’t feel trapped in place, anyway.

“I think about those things, too. And I know you have . . . concerns . . . about my age, but Derek, I’m eighteen, and even if I wasn’t, I’m not some naive, innocent kid. Not anymore.”

“All the more reason you shouldn’t rush this,” Derek said, but it didn’t have quite the firmness he was aiming for. It was difficult to think with Stiles right there filling his senses.

Stiles slipped off the arm and onto Derek’s lap. “It would be nice to have something besides blood on my hands.”

Derek and Stiles stared at each other.

“That sounded way different in my head,” Stiles said.

Derek’s lips twitched.

“Derek,” Stiles whined. “Just one kiss? C’mon, please!”

“Why don’t we try one of those other things you think about?” Derek said, surprising even himself.

Stiles face flushed and he shifted in Derek’s lap. “Uh . . .”

“I meant a movie or a milkshake,” Derek said, though he couldn’t keep his own body from responding to Stiles sitting so close and smelling so good.

“Would the movie include cuddling?” Stiles asked slyly.

Derek remembered where cuddling often led, in Stiles’ fantasies. He stood up and dumped Stiles off his lap. “Milkshakes it is.”

Derek dropped his book on the coffee table and grabbed his jacket off the hook on his way to the door before he changed his mind. Besides, getting out of the loft so he wasn’t tempted to give in to Stiles’ wiles, such as they were, was the best idea for dealing with this that he could come up with at the moment. He slid the door open and stepped onto the landing before looking back at Stiles. “You coming?”

Stiles gave Derek a suspicious look and moved as slow as molasses in February as he tried to figure out if this was some kind of a trick. “Is this a joke?”

“Strawberry milkshakes are no joke,” Derek said solemnly.

Stiles moved a little bit faster after that, but he kept an eye on Derek as if he might disappear at any moment, even after Derek had slid into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“You’re riding with me?”

Derek merely raised his eyebrow in reply. Stiles rolled his eyes.

Once they were on their way, Derek had to concentrate to keep his leg from jittering. This could turn out all kinds of bad. Reaching out for things he wanted had never worked out for him, or for the other people in his life. He glanced over at Stiles, who was also stealing glances at him, and he realized that Stiles probably had a similar outlook.

Derek reached over and took Stiles’ hand off the gearshift. Stiles looked surprised, but let him. Derek turned Stiles hand over in his and studied the palm, brushed the tips of his fingers over it. “We’re more than the blood on our hands,” he said softly.

“Do you really believe that?” Stiles asked hopefully.

Derek wanted to say something uplifting and optimistic, but he couldn’t lie, not to Stiles. “Maybe one day.”

Stiles snorted, but he left his hand in Derek’s, only pulling away when he had to downshift.

The diner wasn’t as awkward an experience as Derek had expected it to be. Stiles tried to blow bubbles into his milkshake, even though it was too thick, and swung his legs so that his feet knocked into Derek’s shins under the table, and was generally his usual annoying self. Which was a relief.

Finally Derek caught Stiles’ feet between his legs and Stiles’ eyes went wide with surprise, and something else.

“Stop playing with your milkshake and drink it,” Derek said.

“Yes, dad,” Stiles snarked. He leaned forward to drink the shake without touching the glass with his hands, and looked up at Derek from beneath his lashes. It did things to Derek that he didn’t want to admit to.

Stiles gave Derek a knowing look as he licked chocolate shake off his lips and slid his hand into the middle of the table. “Holding hands was part of the deal,” he said, giving Derek a challenging look.

“I never said that,” Derek said, but he slipped his hand into Stiles’ anyway.

Stiles bent his head to hide the smile that formed around his straw.

When they got back into the Jeep, Stiles said, “Want me to drop you back at your place?”

“Yours,” Derek said, adding, “I’ll run home from there,” before Stiles’ mind could go places it shouldn’t. For both of their sakes.

Stiles snorted and started the Jeep. “Of course you will. You’re used to doing that, aren’t you, you big creeper?”

Derek didn’t bother to dignify that with a response.

At Stiles’ house, Derek walked him to the door.

“Are you coming in?” Stiles said, looking confused, and a little turned on.

“No.”

Derek hesitated, then leaned down and pressed his lips to Stiles’. His mouth opened with a little exhale of surprise, but Derek was already pulling back before Stiles could react.

“No fair!” Stiles yelped as Derek turned and jumped off the porch steps. “You, you stair-leaping furball!”

Derek looked at Stiles over his shoulder. “Go study.”

He took off towards the preserve, but hadn’t gotten far enough away to not hear Stiles complain, “Oh my god, you were supposed to be _less_ distracting.”

Derek grinned and breathed in deeply of Stiles’ scent, which still surrounded him.

~*~

Derek heard Stiles coming from a mile away. Literally. He finished his set of pull-ups, and then waited, steeling himself for the overwhelming intensity of Stiles’ presence in his space.

There was a perfunctory knock before Stiles slid the door open without waiting for Derek to invite him in and was just _there_. “Derek! We need to have sex!”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “One day I’m going to have company when you say that.”

“That’s alright,” Stiles said breezily. “They all already think we’re having sex, anyway.”

Derek somehow managed to trip even though he hadn’t moved his feet. “What?”

“Isaac says I smell like you, and then he makes this face.” Stiles made the face. “So I figure that means they think we’re doing it.”

“Doing it,” Derek repeated.

Stiles waggled his eyebrows. “Wanna do me?”

“You make it sound so appealing,” Derek said. “How about the Farmer’s Market and brunch instead?”

Stiles rubbed his hands together. “Come on, Sourwolf, fresh veggies wait for no man. Though one day, we’re actually going to have sex.”

“One day,” Derek agreed affably, and hoped that Stiles couldn’t tell just how weak his resolve was growing. “But not today. Also, I’m driving this time.”

“Sure,” Stiles said. “I don’t mind switching it up.” He winked at Derek.

“I’ll switch you up,” Derek grumbled.

“Ohh, kinky.”

“I’m having second thoughts.”

“No, you’re not,” Stiles said. His heartbeat didn’t skip and he didn’t sound the slightest bit uncertain.

No, Derek had to admit, he wasn’t.

The End


End file.
